It isn't being used,
Yet the machine still malfunctions.
It never deserved superlatives:
Never the best, nor the worst.
It contained nothing
That was an absolute delight
To the senses; no sight, smell,
Or taste, to be remembered.
Yet somehow, it malfunctioned,
And made its way into
The memories and minds of the
Traveller and her pack,
Hungry and tired but sharp as tacks.
It did not crumble
Onto the floor, or shatter like
Expensive glass upon a silken rug.
No, it simply slid,
And oozed its mediocrity
Into their waiting hands.
VOCÊ ESTÁ LENDO
Let Us Be Lovers: Poems for Massachusetts
PoesiaA few months ago, I went to the city of Boston for the first time. I fell in love immediatley. I loved the buildings and the history that lay sleeping in their walls. I loved the view from the top of the SkyView. I even loved the pouring rain I had...
